


Letters from the dead

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, This is entirely just for venting, please read at your own risk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Warnings (Updated as needed): Self harm, Suicidal thoughts and ideations, talk of Anxiety and Depression.Please, don't read if any of those make you uncomfortable-------This is entirely freeform; no characters or storylines or such.Sometimes, my only outlet is my writing. Maybe sharing will make me feel better. Maybe not.
Kudos: 1





	Letters from the dead

**Author's Note:**

> I'll only be adding to this as needed. Could be daily, could have gaps, I'm not sure. I'm unsure how to tag or warn but, these aren't going to be pretty. Basically, if you have any triggers relating to Self/Harm or Suicidal talk, please don't read. Take care of yourself.
> 
> This first one is basically freeform poetry, if you can call it that.

When I was 16, I hoped the world would end,  
I hoped I could wake up dead, never again to take a breath.  
I have no motivation to get up and walk through life,  
I'm running low on reason to keep on breathing.

I'm walking a lonely road, standing in the middle of a fourway,  
Wondering which is the right way.  
I'm screaming silently into a night that does not care,  
Hoping to never see the day.

Next thing I know, it's 4am and I admit defeat,  
It's a cycle I'm doomed to repeat.  
It's so fucking stupid, and I know that at heart  
But what am I to do but play the part?

I'm so alone it feels unreal, and it's where I never wanted to be,  
Stuck in thoughts so intoxicating.  
Some days I can't even get my words onto paper  
And on days I do, the next I wonder why I did.

It's words are not cute and pretty, it doesn't fit a rhyme or reason,  
But I wish it did like the poetry I read constantly.  
Instead it mirrors my life like a reflective glass,  
A mess of thoughts that fit no order.

But no, I stand in that fourway, unsure where to go,  
Maybe in front of a car would be best.  
Ideas of bleeding dry or cyanidal suicide arise,  
But what's to be done?

Some days, I want to stop breathing so badly,   
A prayer on my tongue I dare not speak.  
Those days I don't sleep,  
A sick irony to the delusions I seek.

But no, I can't bring myself to ever follow through.  
I don't want to live, but I don't really want to die.  
I don't want to kill myself, I want to stop existing.  
I have no to motivation to die, but I don't have any to survive.

Instead I stumble blindly down one of the paths,  
I don't know which anymore.  
No one's bothered to notice I'm not around anymore,  
And I'm back to my lonely path again.

Words ring in my head, all the things left unsaid.  
But instead I shake my head and ignore it all.  
I've always disappointed you,  
Maybe this is for the better after all.

At some point time stops mattering at all, and time ticks on by,  
For time doesn't care about the mourning of a sad boy.  
Time doesn't care about the boy who can't remember what it's like  
To be able to get up and smile.

I'm sorry Mom, I can't be the kid you wanted me to be,  
But god you aren't the parent I needed you to be.  
I told you I want to die, and you told me that's a lie,  
"Someone who wants to die, wouldn't ever tell."

Maybe that's the problem Mom, the stigma of society.  
The stupidity of reactions of the talk of suicide.  
You reach out for help, and you're told to get over your sadness,  
But then you stand over the grave of the child who suffered silently and ask "why?"

Why what? Why didn't they reach out to someone around them?  
Because we are rejected by our own minds, by our own fucking thoughts.  
We do not need to be rejected by the very people who tell us to reach out,  
We do not need another nail in the coffin, it's already covered.

So I'll walk down this road, unsure of what I'm saying anymore,  
Rambling to a moon that cares not for anything.  
Maybe I'm hoping to find a reason to fix myself,  
But I don't even think I want to be helped anymore

I've reached out time and time again, and in the end it's no use.  
You tell me to get over it, get my head out my ass and be of use.  
So I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that anymore,  
Because maybe I don't want to be saved.

I hope to never see the day I meet that early grave, but maybe I will,  
I just hope you can forgive me.  
So for now, I'll stare into the headlights of the oncoming cars,  
And leave this message, undelivered.


End file.
